


refine the purest of kings

by hannieks



Series: training wheels [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon Fix-It, and also a sociopathic killer, but jd is v v angsty, dont worry i love ronnie too much to be mean, so that happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannieks/pseuds/hannieks
Summary: He stands before her, arms outstretched, challenging her with his charcoal eyes and signature grin, every fibre of him screaming come on, chicken, I dare you.





	refine the purest of kings

**Author's Note:**

> hi there reader, here’s another work i edited half asleep and mid breakdown, so any bad angst is from that.  
> title is from the song “Make it Rain” by ed shearan, who i don’t usually listen to but i love soa a lot, soooo  
> anyways, enjoy! and point out any mistakes if you can!

He stands before her, arms outstretched, challenging her with his charcoal eyes and signature grin, every fibre of him screaming _come on, chicken, I dare you._

She knows what he’s goading her into, but when it concerns her sweetheart she’ll follow without hesitation, a weakness in her armour that he’s learned to exploit.

Perhaps that’s why she sprints towards him as fast as her shaking legs and heeled boots will carry her, the bomb’s display counting with only thirty seconds remaining. Maybe it’s why, when she’s four feet away and he smiles, thinking she’s given into his twisted suicide pact, she gathers every ounce of strength in the inferno of her heart - and punches him unconscious.

With the way he hit the ground she figures he’ll have a concussion, but she has bigger problems. All she wants is to keep him under for as long as possible.

Veronica rips the explosives off him, takes the bomb in hand and books it away from him, throwing it with only five seconds left and abruptly running in the other direction, her mind a mess of _holy_ _shit holy shit_ and _how did i get here_ and _oh god i’m sorry heather don’t let me go to hell and see you again._

And when an explosion big enough to kill a man goes off just a hundred metres away from the Westerburg High front steps, the school’s sweethearts lie that same distance away, the girl panting hard and the boy asleep in her shaking arms.

\---

She doesn’t go back to school for a while, unable to face the questions and the scrutiny. Hell, she’s under enough pressure to just get up and function, to wear makeup too heavy for her age to mask the pain she’s in, holding herself together the only way she knows how.

Too many people have died in this small town, and she’s not letting herself become another statistic.

Both Heathers visit her whilst she studies at home. Duke’s still in denial, decked out in red and having far too much fun with the chaos, but McNamara is something else.

In the aftermath of it all she’s wearing a dress in a stunning blue, not her signature yellow. When asked about it by a confused Veronica she replies calmly with her poetic, meek tone.

“I wear blue because I associate it with strength. You’ve always been strong.”

But then Duke returns from the bathroom having seen her lunch again, and the blonde goes back to her quiet, bitchy self.

An enigma, all the same, but Veronica would be lying if she said that her words didn’t calm some of the self hatred bubbling in her veins.

—

Two weeks pass. She spends her nights writing restlessly in her diary, checking her window near constantly for any signs of a broken lock, and sobbing under her duvet for the two teenage boys who died without cause.

Perhaps it makes her a little insane, that she doesn’t cry for Chandler.

At this point in what may go down in history as the worst sophomore year ever to be had in this town, she doesn’t give a single fuck - not unlike the authorities.

His father isn’t taken from him like she’d begged the authorities to, but JD is sectioned - thanks to her relentless pleads and the overwhelming evidence. He avoids jail time due to insanity, and it’s his charm that saves her from a count of second degree murder in the courtroom.

He makes her sound like a child, manipulated by his sociopathic charm and her suicidal tendencies, and damn if the judge doesn’t fall under his spell too. Even her parents seem entranced, crying quietly in the corner.

After the trial is over he smirks at her with such ice in his gaze that it gives her nightmares until she sees him next.

—

She’s allowed to visit him once a week. Usually, the hour long visit is spent with him in silence, or him in a violent fury, or Veronica holding back tears with the unfamiliarity in the boy.

The nurse tells her that he’d calm soon enough, his brain unfamiliar with the communication skills of a normal human.

Soon, she’s been promised, he’d wake up. Soon he’d be the boy she fell in love with, and she believes them, because if you put something like the health service under enough pressure they’ll perform well just to prove themselves.

But Veronica admits that she misses him more than anything. She misses his laugh, his cynical jokes, the way he made her feel important like nobody else could, his library of books.

All she wants is JD back, but it’s getting harder to see the end when all she’s given is him, twirling a pen with confidence she’s certain is from his extensive knowledge of how to kill her with it. He’s a shadow of the boy she fell for. 

—

“What were you really after?” JD asks one spring morning, the dated windows of the hospital filtering the innocent light.

“You, Jason.”

He hates that name, and his eyes flash with fury a second before the buzzer sounds.

They stand up, him making a show of opening the door like a 19th century gentleman.

“That’s your cue.”

His laugh is hauntingly, awfully beautiful as it floats down the hallway after her. 

—

Once, about five weeks into the treatment, she walks into his room to see him staring at her like she personally hung the stars in the sky, like he owes everything he is to her. And maybe he feels like he does, maybe it’s just the manipulation, but hope blooms in her chest all the same.

When she passes his bed to move towards the visitor's chair he reaches out and pulls her into him, before jerking his hands away like she'd burned him.

“I- I’m _sorry_.” He mumbles, and her heart breaks at the sorrow in his voice. “The doctors say I have to ask before I do that, I’m a failure-”

She places a hand on his shoulder and he glances up with tears in his gorgeous eyes, before collapsing straight into her open arms with a shuddering gasp.

“You can do that shit. With me.” She murmurs into his ear, and before she loses the nerve she adds, “I’m your girlfriend, right?”

The delighted laugh he gives her makes everything almost worth it - but when he pulls back the expression of pure joy in his smile gives her enough happiness to soar above this shitty hospital, straight up to heaven.

\---

After three months institutionalised, paid for with his father’s money, he’s released with her parents instructed to check up on him every three nights when he’s at his own house and every night when he’s with her.

She negates to mention the three months of therapy she’s undergone, skips over telling him about all the medication she’s on and the mental breakdowns she’s had herself, only because she’s fully aware that him knowing he broke her might just rip out the stitches she’s carefully sewn.

He’s far too attached to her to be healthy, but she knows with time he’ll learn to stand on his own two feet.

And she’ll be with him every shaking stagger of the way there.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on twitter @samuraiklance  
>   
> hope you enjoyed. x


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